


The Case of the Oblivious Detective

by Luthienberen



Category: Petr Kopl Victoria Regina Series, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Case Fic, Edwardian Period, First Time, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 11:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Two grateful clients offer the use of a secluded cottage for Holmes and Watson to spend time together. Watson is determined to use the opportunity to demonstrate to Holmes exactly what people – including their clients – are referring to vis-à-vis one consulting detective and one medical doctor.





	The Case of the Oblivious Detective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ColebaltBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColebaltBlue/gifts).



> I have based my story for ColebaltBlue on the [Petr Kopl Sherlock Holmes comic series](https://www.ihearofsherlock.com/2016/09/petr-kopls-sherlock-holmes-review.html), which is full of cameos of other in/famous characters and an interconnected storyline across the comics. In them people allude to the “true” nature of Holmes and Watson’s relationship, insinuating that it is less than platonic. Holmes tends to be oblivious to the meaning behind these accusations (depending on which point of the story you are reading). 
> 
> For the sake of the fic, I have chosen to expand on Holmes’ obliviousness and play with the fact that Watson, after moving back in in _The Empty House_ felt compelled to move out again due to potentially damaging reputational rumours, which Holmes is not entirely happy about. 
> 
> Also, Watson in the comics is rather short (four feet!) just in case anyone wonders about the height difference.

*** * ***

_June 1903_

A raven flew steadily over the rooftops of London, comparing them unfavourably to its home in its quiet village. There rolling fields, rushing brooks and sparkling streams filled the world underneath, all interspersed with trees of various heights and flowers.

Here, smoke and pollution with the smell of too many living together, reached even up here in the less than clear skies. Still, he had a message to deliver and…ah!

Swooping down the raven landed outside a small door. The hot sun had driven people to take sanctuary, leaving the pavement deserted, so the bird took the opportunity to rap with its beak on the door.

A moment later a mouse appeared, rotund and wearing an impressive moustache.

“Yes?” he inquired.

The raven pulled the message from under his wing to the mouse. “Waiting for a reply.”

The mouse nodded and disappeared.

After five minutes he returned with water and food plus good news.

“We shall come,” he confirmed. Delighted, the raven ducked his head in the water and snapped up the food. Thus refreshed he took flight cawing in thanks.

“See you!” he cried as he gained altitude.

The mouse waved goodbye, vanishing from view as the raven went higher and higher and started home.

* * *

The Whitsun holiday had passed in a sticky haze when Watson once more ascended the stairs at 221b Baker Street. He was weary from treating a range of sunburns, heat stroke and other ailments brought about by trips to Brighton and Hove by his patrons, who had gone to take in the sun.

He was looking forward to seeing Holmes while also remonstrating on him about the ridiculous addition of a certain line to the detective’s notes on the case of _The Blanched Soldier_.

Entering Baker Street with an eager step Watson was amused to find Holmes amid a pile of papers strewn about in a most untidy fashion.

“Watson!” exclaimed his friend, waving a paper of scissors about rather dangerously. “Good to see you, do sit.”

“Where?” asked Watson with a chuckle. Even so he brushed some clippings onto the floor, selecting one before it drifted to the floor. The title of the newspaper was partially destroyed but Watson managed to catch a glimpse of the gruesome crime Holmes was fussing over.

_\---RAGE CHRONICLE_

_EXECUTION OF WIFE POISONER!_

 

“Oh Watson, do throw that away would you? I mangled the job badly.”

“Unlike you Holmes.”

Holmes waved those scissors rather alarmingly again, a frown marring his face.

“I was distracted by a bee landing on our – my – breakfast table. I had to see that it was well before continuing and in my haste I cut where I shouldn’t. Fortunately,” here he brandished a fresh paper with triumph, “I had a spare and so shall correct affairs in just a moment.”

Watson smiled at Holmes enthusiasm for bees, glad his friend had something apart from crime to fill his great brain.

“I am surprised by your attraction to bees Holmes, but grateful not only crime or the arts fill that wonderous mind of yours.”

Holmes smiled a little at that, though with an uncertain twist to his lips which indicated he wasn’t entirely sure if Watson was disapproving of one of his habits again. Watson hastened to reassure his friend, but causally so Holmes would be spared embarrassment.

“The study of bees seems a nice relaxing line of research, though it would take you into the country.”

Holmes shrugged and continued cutting up the paper he was holding.

“There is much to learn from bees, their system of order and interrelations with each member of the hive and the Queen is fascinating. Why-”

“Visitors, Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson,” announced Mrs Hudson. She peeked her head around the corner warily. “Are you both decent?

“Mrs Hudson,” braked Holmes, “why wouldn’t we be decent? I am wearing my robe and Watson is, as always, a gentleman.”

“Apart from when I am slinking into houses with you to steal some important document,” teased Watson.

“Well you haven’t seen each other for a while,” defended Mrs Hudson, a woman who deserved a sainthood if Watson had a say in the matter.

Watson flushed even as Holmes, his dear wonderful oblivious detective and friend, missed the point entirely.

“How that relates to decency I do not know Mrs Hudson. Who are our guests?”

“A Mr James Dodd and Mr Godfrey Emsworth.”

“The soldiers from your latest case! Why Holmes, I would very much like to meet them.”

Holmes threw down his scissors and grabbed the bottle of paste. “Then you shall Watson. First, allow me to add this article to my collection and then you can show them up.”

Mrs Hudson edged in and surveyed the disaster of the room. “Doctor, I trust you shall make the room suitable for our guests and that you ensure both of you are properly prepared. I will give the men a cup of tea while they wait.”

Watson nodded in understanding and the landlady left.

“Watson, what did Mrs Hudson mean by implying we would not be decent because of your long absence?”

The hurt accusation in Holmes stiff tone had Watson sighing. Rising from his chair he focused on gathering the mess of newspaper articles, all shrilly declaring the ‘latest’ concerning the crimes of the wife murderer, the movements and supposed words of Inspector Godley, the trial and so on, of the rather gruesome and horrid tale that had been emblazoned across society for the last few months.

“Holmes, I am sorry for my absence but you know the reason why. My medical practice has been extraordinary busy of late otherwise I would have visited every other day, if not every day. As for Mrs Hudson’s comments…well, we are very close.”

“Not as of late,” complained Holmes.

It was nice to know that Holmes missed him, but Watson wished Holmes understood the reasons for his absence.

“We can discuss this after our guests. At any rate, I am at your disposal for the next fortnight as Doctor Anstruther has agreed to look after my practice while I have a little holiday.”

His friend’s demeanour immediately changed and he leapt to his feet to hastily tidy away his papers. He put the teetering pile along with his new crime scrapbook to one side, leaving the couch free for their visitors.

“Excellent! Let me introduce the stalwart men waiting downstairs and then we can seek a little music and then supper.”

Laughing at Holmes’ vibrating energy, Watson went to the door of the sitting room, brushing against his friend’s coat and causing a small book nearly to fall out. Pushing it back into the pocket Watson noticed absentmindedly the title, _“The Mind of the Hive by Rev. T. Allspice”._

“Mrs Hudson, we are ready.”

In answer to his call he heard his former landlady’s footsteps followed by the sure steps of men in the prime of their youth. Receding into the room Watson took up his position by his favourite chair with Holmes beside him, now divested of his dressing robe with a neat jacket that he tugged over his chemical stained shirt shirtsleeves.

Messrs James Dodd and Godfrey Emsworth appeared and Watson was impressed. The man who was big with skin still heavily tanned from service and an already hot summer had to be Mr Dodd. The slimmer man who appeared pale and tired had to be Mr Emsworth. He wore lightweight cotton gloves with a silk scarf wrapped about his neck.

Rather odd for the weather, but easily explained by the eccentricity of youth while concealing signs of his non-contagious yet frightening looking disease.

“Mr Holmes!” cried the big man. He advanced with bright blue eyes awash with joy at meeting the detective yet again.

“Mr Dodd,” replied Holmes clasping the offered hand warmly. “I perceive you are well and enjoying civilian life once more.”

Dodd laughed heartily at that. “I will not even guess how you knew Mr Holmes, but yes, civilian life is treating me well. Though,” he raised his left arm to reveal his handkerchief still tucked in his sleeve, “the army has maintained its mark.”

“My friend Watson can attest to the army marking a man for life,” replied Holmes. He prodded Watson who rolled his eyes but displayed his own linen handkerchief tucked firmly into his sleeve.

“Dr Watson,” said Dodd, “why it is a pleasure to meet you at last. I can speak for Godfrey and I when I say that it is almost as if we know you. Your writings are compelling readings.”

“Being involved in one of your cases is even more fascinating,” said Godfrey stepping forward to shake hands with Holmes and then Watson.

Watson chuckled at their enthusiasm though the doctor in him reared at Godfrey’s condition.

“Please sit Mr Emsworth-”

“Godfrey please.”

“Godfrey, I see that you are still recovering.”

Godfrey sank gratefully to the couch with Dodd. “Why yes Doctor Watson. I am improving all the while, but I do tire easily of late.”

Watson pushed up his spectacles then  plucked Godfrey’s wrist up and took his pocket watch out. He couldn’t sit idle as a doctor when a patient was nearby.

Holmes snorted and measured out whisky for their visitors. Amid the fuss Mrs Hudson arrived with the maid bearing tea and cakes. She merely raised an eyebrow at Watson’s antics.

“Please keep the noise down gentleman,” she commented once the maid had departed, then she too left.

Holmes blinked and decided not even to bother. James Dodd merely smiled and observed Watson.

“Your pulse is strong,” approved Watson, “but I think you could use a holiday away from the stressors of home. Perhaps somewhere quiet so you are not bothered by superstitious or non-medically inclined people.”

“We are departing for France right after our visit here,” said Dodd as he sipped his whisky, “but before we go we simply had to say thanks and share a drink with the man who brought Godfrey back to me, his family and to himself.”

Holmes looked pleased. “It was nothing Mr Dodd, a logical chain of facts which any person could have reasoned with a little thought and observation.”

Godfrey relaxed into the couch with his own glass. “That may be Mr Holmes, but I owe my life to you and we would very much like to show our gratitude.”

Dodd nodded empathetically.

“Pardon me for saying so Mr Holmes and Dr Watson, but we feel close to you both. You returned my closest pal to me and I know Mr Holmes your sentiments for Dr Watson.”

Holmes just sat on his seat, mouth open to speak. Watson quickly spoke to prevent a scene.

“Sentiments Mr Dodd? Not many would agree with Holmes having emotions.” Watson smiled at Holmes who sniffed, but grinned in return.

Dodd played with his whisky glass, his neatly trimmed beard framing his handsome mouth which stretched wide at their exchange.

“Only those who don’t read your stories closely doctor. Anyway, I may not be as observant as Mr Holmes, but anyone with a heart can tell how deep your friendship is from the stories.”

Watson knew where this was going and held himself still, beyond flicking his gaze to his friend who had finished his tea and was tearing apart his cake as he listened with increasing bafflement.

Dodd gestured about the sitting room, speaking with great emotion.

“When I engaged Mr Holmes’ services I noticed the photograph of you both on the mantle, the medical notes which Mr Holmes had close by on the table and the manner your friend grumbled about your absence to me when we went down to Tuxbury Old Park. Nothing in those gestures that would excite an ordinary person, but to someone suffering under a similar sympathetic relationship they sounded like cannon fire.”

“You insinuate something I do not comprehend Mr Dodd. Watson and I are indeed friends, but unfortunately we have parted ways for the doctor has sought separate digs.”

He bit viciously into his cake.

Watson sighed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Godfrey and Dodd’s startled expressions.

“We can trust to your discretion gentlemen?”

Understanding flooded their youthful faces and they nodded.

“Our lives!” they chorused with enthusiasm and a bit too loudly. Sheepish Dodd reached for another strawberry tart.

Godfrey ducked his head to conceal his smile and played with his watch chain from which hung a silver disc. Watson caught sight of a stylised fox etched into the silver, then he focused on Holmes.

His detective had impatiently risen and had taken up his contentious pipe. His grey eyes fixed on Watson as he leaned his long thin frame next to the unlit fire. The sun streaming through the windows fell upon Holmes, granting colour to his cheeks and glinting off the silver metal ring on Holmes’ pipe and the crystal whisky glasses.

“What do you mean by such a fantastic exchange Watson?”

“Holmes,” sighed Watson patiently as he too stood and moved to be close to his friend. He nudged with his foot a stray newspaper with its front pages cut up, the pages open by chance on the cartoon showing an artistic rendition of a rat.

“Your notes on the case were truly marvellous and I anticipate eagerly when the story is published in due course. However…”

“Yes?”

“Holmes, you mentioned that I had essentially deserted you due to my marriage. I am not married any longer.”

Holmes picked up his tobacco slipper to fill his pipe.

“I know Watson which is why you moved back into Baker Street. However, since you left again I was merely playing your game Watson; smudging the facts of cases to protect the innocent and not so innocent.”

“Yes, but really Holmes. I haven’t _abandoned_ you.”

“You proposed the ridiculous idea along with the notion you move out to set up a new surgery to protect our reputations,” protested his friend petulantly.

Watson smiled sadly and Holmes grew restless at whatever he perceived in his friend’s eyes and the twitch of his moustache. In some things, Holmes found the softer emotions both inexplicable and bewildering.

“Sir,” suddenly said James Dodd. The virile man leant forward, speaking earnestly and with such honesty no one could deny him.

“Such deception by your friend is necessary because...well, there are those out there who might interpret your friendship as we have done, but without the same approbation.”

“Mr Dodd is correct Holmes. For now we must be careful and know my dear Holmes that I am always on call, not merely for my patients but for one eccentric, sentimental detective.”

A glimmer of understanding flickered briefly in those grey eyes and Holmes flushed. He hurriedly offered his tobacco to the now smiling doctor.

“If that is sorted,” said Godfrey disturbing them as they lit their pipes.

Watson looked at Godfrey and nodded in encouragement.

The recovering man played with his silver fox charm as he announced, “My father purchased a cottage retreat for me in the quiet village of Elsbury. It has all the modern conveniences. There is even a small room for the bath on the ground floor at the back with hot water pipes!”

Watson hid a smile at Holmes’ sudden excitement. His friend’s cat like love of cleanliness demanded regular baths much to Mrs Hudson’s dismay and to Watson’s chagrin the man _must_ bathe with the door open. The view did not bother Watson, more the chance of the poor maid being shocked and talking when she shouldn’t talk.

Hence Watson, when living at Baker Street, was always hovering about waiting for his turn and ready to shut the door if required.

However, his friend seemed unusually thrilled by the prospect of modern conveniences for he wriggled away from the fireplace and began pacing up and down, mouth clenched around his pipe and brow furrowed.

“Holmes?”

His friend glanced up. “Yes Watson?” he mumbled.

Watson inclined his head at their guests.

“Oh! I gladly accept, I presume Watson can come?”

Godfrey grinned at that. “Naturally. Here are the keys and an envelope with all the information you will need. The housekeeper is _very_ understanding.”

The final comment went above Holmes’ head so Watson thanked the two men warmly on both their behalf.

Godfrey linked arms with his companion and said, “Mr Holmes, we again thank you for all you did. I hope that the stay in the cottage is beneficial to you both.”

“Of course it will be!” exclaimed Holmes. “Watson, do you realise who lives in Elsbury? None other than Reverend Thomas Allspice, esteemed beekeeper and author of the current book I am reading.”

“I look forward to meeting him Holmes, but perhaps we should bid our visitors farewell and then commence packing?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Thank you both for the opportunity. I hope your sojourns revitalise your health and spirits.”

Watson shook hands and saw them to the door where Godfrey pulled his hat low.

“Good luck,” he whispered as he stepped out into the hot afternoon sun.

Dodd clasped his arm briefly. “Pin your target down doctor!”

Then they were gone and Watson heard thumping from above followed by Holmes’ yell.

“ _Watson! I need to take all these papers with us so I can finish my scrapbook on…”_

 _“Mr Holmes!”_ declared Mrs Hudson. “There is no need to shout at Doctor Watson, he will be up in a moment I daresay.”

Watson’s heart gave a pang. He had missed this, something had to be done so he could move back in.

* * *

**THE SUFFRAGE CHRONICLE**

_Mystery of Holidaying Detective and Doctor by Miss Florence Rutherford_

The sleepy village of Elsbury does not have much to recommend it beyond the presence of our esteemed vicar, whose work on bees and beekeeping must surely be at the forefront of his field.

Naturally, the village is infamous (and infamous is so much more thrilling than _famous_ I think we can all agree) for the headquarters of this very paper.

However, we can now claim acquaintance with that detective of crime whose methods leave us all bewildered and the police particularly indebted to (sometimes happily so, and other times not so happily).

Mr Sherlock Holmes and his friend and associate Doctor John Watson have descended upon Elsbury, a network of scattered houses, beautiful blossom trees and nature, sprinkled with a couple of farms and the aforementioned vicar and paper.

This innocent reporter, returning from visiting her intimate friend, met them as I rode my beautiful darling Sapphire home.

The question is why dear ladies?

Has some terrible mystery been uncovered? Are they in pursuit of a criminal? Have they been requested to help in a minor case, yet one full of unconventional curiosities fit for Mr Holmes?

Perhaps the reason is simpler and they are merely on holiday?

This intrepid journalist shall maintain a close vigil to ensure the answer to our questions. The one answer I can assure my readers is that they are indeed the warmest of friends.

Strolling arm in arm the two men were chatting and the doctor was laughing at his companion’s excitement. I daresay I heard the mention of “bees”, yet one can hardly imagine what Mr Holmes would want with our esteemed vicar.

They greeted me cheerfully, with Mr Holmes admiring Sapphire with much enthusiasm and a litany of questions. Eventually the doctor nudged the great detective along, possibly before he began deducing all manner of things about me (thank goodness!).

The affection in Doctor Watson’s voice and eyes behind his spectacles was quite touching, as he steered his friend on and kept them on the path and from colliding with any further horse riders or people.

= = =

**NEWSPAPER EMBLEM CONTEST**

The winner of our contest is Miss Farthingale. We at _The_ _Suffrage Chronicle_ all concur that her stylised drawing of two Ravens in flight is a suitable emblem for our paper. From now on the Raven shall head our newspaper.

A prize of £25 will be forwarded to Miss Farthingale, may it assist her in succeeding her aspirations.

= = =

**ADVERT**

Please contact Miss Isabella Aubrey if you are interested in situating any adverts with our paper, address at the bottom of the page.

 

= = =

**MR RAT CARTOON**

Our artist, Miss Mabel Stepleton, has twisted her wrist so cannot provide us with her usual sketch. Therefore, with our greatest apologies, we have supplied a summary of her story below in prose form:

~~~ _On a dank and dreary day Mr Rat poked his head out of his home. Out he looked upon the din and decaying odour of the sprawling city and despaired._

_~~”Enough!” said he, “I shall seek another abode in the country.”_

_~~So Mr Rat gathered his belongings and hopped on a cart heading to the countryside (for he was an educated rat and could read the signs)._

_~~Soon he had left the city where smut clung to his fur coat and into rolling fields, with a myriad of trees and flowers and animals. On Mr Rat went until he saw a tall spire and exclaimed, “Aha! As in my dream.”_

_~~Thus he descended and made his home with the lonely gentleman inhabiting the ancient vicarage. Then Mr Rat was content, for no smut tarred his coat, only pollen and grasses adorned his fur, easily groomed out._

_~~Days were spent exploring and spending time with the gentleman who was no longer lonely and together they ventured on many excursions. Mr Rat was delighted with this arrangement and eagerly anticipated their life together and the adventures to come.~~_

**_The Suffrage Chronicle, 21 Oak Street, Elsbury_ **

* * *

 

Their visit to the Vicar had been a roaring success. Holmes was excited to be in the company of such an expert and was already scheming how he could purchase his own bees. The only drawback was any move to the countryside entailed retirement and the question of Watson.

To organise his thoughts Holmes situated himself by the open window of the cottage. On the table he had dragged over he had his cuttings, a bottle of paste, scissors and his scrapbook.

A cool breeze wafted through the open window offering some relief from the sweltering afternoon. Holmes wondered if Miss Rutherford would be riding her delightful horse. He must ask if there were stables nearby where he could borrow a horse.

Cantering over the green fields with Watson would be pleasurable. Even though Watson wasn’t too keen on horses, the doctor was usually happy to oblige and would pack a picnic that he would enjoy when they halted. No doubt Watson would insist on Holmes eating a good portion of the meal.

Glancing up through the window to check for anything interesting, Holmes froze. The paste brush hung in his fingers; his other hand fixed on the newspaper cutting.

He could hardly believe his eyes, yet Holmes rarely doubted his senses. Only a few yards from him was an extraordinary sight, normally regulated to the fevered dreams of the cocaine syringe or opium den (both pursuits Watson had tenderly if implacably weaned him off).

A beautifully bushy red fox accompanied by a fluffy black cat were creeping through the field, eyes fixed on the end of the little garden. On their backs…on their backs rode _mice_.

The mouse on the fox was plump with a groomed moustache and half moon spectacles, wearing a neat suit. Why, it looked strangely like his Watson would if he were a rodent and not a human.

Too fascinated to even blink, Holmes examined the mouse perched on top of the black cat and nearly jumped from his seat. As it was, he came close to upsetting the paste bottle on his lap, the brush clumsily caught while the cutting somehow succeeded staying on the table.

The other mouse wore a deerstalker hat and long coat reminiscent of the ones in his possession, but on a much smaller scale! Seeing himself as a mouse was quite the limit, and after a moment of stunned surprise Holmes wrestled his vocal cords into working order.

“Watson!”

In the kitchen Watson froze at the alarm in Holmes’ cry and seizing his walking stick he rushed into the sitting room with the stick held high. There he was met with the strangest tableau. 

Holmes kneeling on his seat, paste bottle and brush on the table, his cuttings disarrayed. His friend was peering out the window, mouth agape.

Watson darted to the window deeply concerned by his friend’s odd behaviour.

“Watson,” croaked Holmes, just now meeting his worried gaze. “ _Look!”_

So Watson did.

“Dear heaven!”

Out in the field a fox and cat carried two mice, so alike Holmes and he that Watson nearly dropped his stick in shock. He certainly lowered his arm and leaned out the window, his shoulder pressed against Holmes.

That solid pressure assured Watson this was no hallucination.

For another instant the four animals were visible. All four were unaware of their presence, their gazes locked on the bottom of the garden where among the waist high hedge _something_ moved.

It was too quick for Watson to ascertain what caused the hedge to rustle. Yet the four animals were clearly set on tracking this elusive thing, for the fox sniffed while the cat’s tail swished. The mice whispered animatedly and in a few more cautious silent strides all four vanished into the hedge.

Collapsing back through the window Watson and Holmes sank onto the floor together. Leaning against his companion, Watson felt Holmes’ clutch his wrist, seeking his bare flesh under his cuff.

Shivering at the cooler touch Watson was grateful for the link to reality.

Tugging his spectacles off with his left hand Watson rubbed his eyes and rested his hand holding his glasses on his knee. He looked at his friend whose grey eyes were dazed before they cleared and focused on him.

“Watson,” gasped Holmes. “How is it possible?”

“I can only quote Shakespeare my dear Holmes:

_There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,_

_Than_ _are dreamt of in your philosophy._ ”

Holmes snorted but subsided, breath ragged until that fearful gleam sprang into his eyes and which usually led Watson to bringing his stick and revolver.

“Oh no Holmes. I will not have you wandering the countryside seeking a mouse Holmes and a mouse Watson in company of one fox and cat.”

Holmes pouted. “But Watson!”

“No Holmes, how would we look? Now up you get. I shall finish brewing our tea and we will have a bite to eat to recover our nerves.”

“Oh Watson, how could you abandon this opportunity to explore that there are rodent versions of ourselves? Though at least this Holmes has his companion with him.”

“Really Holmes. Am I a phantom? Also, if you would stop with the dramatics I am sure we can come to a much happier accord than previously.”

Holmes brightened. “You will return to Baker Street?”

“It would be risky, but we could…”

“Move to the country!” Holmes suddenly declared as he stood, dragging Watson with him.

“…The country?”

Holmes did always say he was capable of great flashes of insight when his emotions were running high or they were in danger (which was nearly always with Holmes) and now was no different. The countryside that Holmes had always decried as secret hotbeds of criminal activity, the like of which would strike horror into one’s very soul.

Countryside consisting of so much: moors, quarries and mines, with rolling fields and scattered woods crisscrossed with streams and brooks leading to the sea. Those same fields and woods full of animals going about their business, with flowers being visited by…

“Bees? Holmes, if that happens I demand that we take precautions, because you have continually informed me of the deceptive sweetness of the countryside and I doubt that you are wholly incorrect.”

A vision of a swarm of bees protecting their friend Holmes was a mildly terrifying thought. Gently disengaging Holmes’ fingers wrapped about his wrist, Watson cleaned his spectacles and replaced them on his nose.

His friend surprisingly tidied the table and then followed him to the kitchen, chatting excitedly about the logic of the animal world reflecting the human world, the universal truth that there was a Holmes and Watson everywhere, so obviously they had to stay together – all rather romantic, though Watson did not say so, merely smiling as he brought the teapot to the kitchen table and transferred their ham sandwiches across.

As he observed his happy and hopeful friend, Watson knew he must have that conversation concerning what their friends, acquaintances and casual strangers sometimes alluded to; and why they thought so.

He had thought Holmes understood before, but his friend sometimes was oblivious to the obvious, because to Holmes it was simple: they were friends, he loved Watson and Watson loved him – what else was there?

And it _was_ in one way, but people’s perceptions made it complicated on top of the normal range of human interactions and external factors that could cause bumps in any relationship.

Yet, for the moment Watson just listened, only interrupting Holmes to make one observation:

“As long as that old tiger hunter Moran has no counterpart, nor Moriarty or Stapleton then I am content.”

“Ha! Excellent my dear Watson. Excellent.”

Taking a bite of his ham sandwich Holmes took a break in his stream of hypothesises and Watson relished the quiet comradeship on this bizarre hot summer afternoon, with the smell of roses, tulips and chrysanthemums and fresh grass wafting through the open windows.

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully with Holmes absorbed in the world of poisoning, innocent victims and sensational reporting. His efforts paid off in finishing his scrapbook by the night with a hurrah and cheerful tune played on his violin much to Watson’s delight. No opportunity arose to speak openly to Holmes so Watson waited for the morrow.

The next day dawned with Watson relenting and spending the morning searching for those mice. He only caught sight of the black cat observing him curiously in the manner of felines in the lane running past their summer retreat, and embarrassed Watson found himself lifting his hat in a display of respect before falling back to the cottage.

He was certain the cat nodded regally in response, flicking its tail before sauntering off.

Holmes was intrigued but was distracted upon seeing Miss Rutherford ride by on her horse with a lady companion. He dashed out and asked a few questions which resulted to where Watson was now: astride a pony, hoping that they would return before nightfall at the stables owned by Miss Rutherford’s family on her uncle’s side.

Miss Aubrey and Miss Rutherford had dismounted during the selection process and now stood watching them with sweet smiles. Their horses were to one side and happily drinking fresh cool water.

“Good luck Doctor Watson,” said Miss Aubrey. She was a pretty girl, slight and dark haired. Watson could see the marks of a lifetime of illness on her pale features and in the careful manner she held herself, but her spirit shone strongly in those hazel eyes as well as her lovely smile.

“I hope you enjoy Desmond, he is good pony,” she added, stroking the fair mane.

“I am sure Watson will,” remarked Holmes as he expertly brought his horse over. His smile was as a gentleman’s should be, but lacking a touch of warmth in his cool grey eyes.

Watson nearly rolled his eyes, but refrained.

“Thank you Miss Aubrey, Miss Rutherford.”

The taller lady laughed merrily. She was shockingly clad in trousers and a waistcoat. Holmes had naturally struck up a good accord with the unconventional woman. Watson feared it would end with more horses for Watson on top of bees.

Along with the mice, cat and fox it was becoming uncomfortably crowded.

“You’re welcome Doctor Watson and Mr Holmes. The ride through the woods is quite picturesque and should have you back by suppertime, including a stop for your picnic.”

“Then we bid you good day,” said Holmes doffing his hat and whispering to his horse Dottie to proceed.

Miss Rutherford draped an arm over Miss Aubrey’s shoulders and waved them off.

Falling into step with Dottie who quite happily walked slowly for Desmond to keep pace, Watson decided to lay the foundations of his talk with Holmes.

“There was no need to be jealous you know Holmes.”

“Jealous?” Holmes sniffed.

“Hmmm, yes jealous. There really is no need to be jealous. I am not in the market for a wife and even if I was for some strange reason, Miss Aubrey is not on the market.”

Holmes’s frown was amusing.

“She is _intimate_ friends with Miss Rutherford. I could tell because Miss Rutherford trusted us enough to be relaxed around us.”

The great detective spent a minute chewing this over, before he went “oh”. Satisfied for the present Watson encouraged his pony to speed up who obliged.

Holmes and Dottie were not to be left behind and followed in pursuit, coming apace as they passed the church and vicarage.

A white clad man – Reverend Thomas Allspice – was tending to his bees and waved at them.

“Hullo!” he yelled, rather muffled by his head gear.

“Hullo Reverend!” they responded in unison. Holmes shouted, “Tomorrow at ours for tea, Reverend?”

“I would be delighted! I will bring a pot of honey.”

“Superlative, see you then!”

Waving once more the Reverend returned to tending to his non-human, but still much loved and cared for flock.

Relaxing into the saddle Watson welcomed the sun and peace, for Holmes was humming away a lovely lively tune which was very pleasing to hear.

They spent half an hour going along the various lanes, circling the circumference of the woods in this companionable manner, exchanging only a few words upon sighting a rustling bush or group of flowers – all unfortunately yielding no mice or foxes or kitties.

As they neared the end of their circular meanderings, a raven flew above their heads before bending wing towards the same woods they were heading to. Watson watched idly as the bird vanished under the eaves of the trees, wondering if this was a new player in their game of animal mystery.

His companion behaved as if it was so for he turned Dottie to follow the raven, crossing the sparkling waters of a brook that ran out of the woods. Sighing, Watson did the same only to discover after a few yards that they had lost the elusive avian.

“Blast!”

“Come on Holmes,” wheedled Watson to his annoyed friend. “Let us rest for a while with our picnic basket. Here is a little bubbling brook for Desmond and Dottie. Once we are all watered and fed and rested we can continue with our mystery.”

“So you agree we must pursue our alter egos?”

“If you wish to call it that, then yes. Though I thought I had already consented to your mad plan.”

Holmes fluidly dismounted and led Dottie to the brook where she eagerly began to drink. Watson followed more stiffly but still successfully, leading his mild tempered Desmond to join his friend.

In the meantime Holmes spread the blanket on the grass under the protection of a willow tree, whose long tendrils formed a screen of privacy.

Taking advantage of this, Watson sat closer than was decent to Holmes who blinked at him in surprise. Watson pretended not to notice and unpacked their late lunch of sandwiches, cake and a small bottle of wine, along with water.

Serving up Holmes’ portion on a plate with two glasses: one of rich ruby red and one with fresh cool water, Watson innocently began eating, glancing at Holmes through his glasses and offering quick smiles and murmurs of enjoyment at their scrumptious repast.

“Watson?”

There was something so sweet about Holmes’ obliviousness and innocence in certain matters that was oddly compelling, even when he had to defer people’s insinuations while Holmes stood there demanding to know what they were rabbiting on about.

“Yes Holmes?”

Holmes hesitated then shrugged. “Nothing Watson.”

Watson was delighted that Holmes accepted the situation and that Holmes pressed closer. Eating and contemplating their strategy for finding a pack of four animals (and potentially a raven), the two men soon were sprawled on the blanket drowsing.

Watson was relieved Holmes was catching rest and laid still, thrilling at Holmes placing his head on his friend’s outstretched arm. He dared not move so as not to startle Holmes. Really, things were progressing wonderfully.

* * *

**THE SUFFRAGE CHRONICLE**

**| _Emblem of Two Ravens in Flight_ |**

_Odd Occurrences in Our Cities by Miss Isabella Aubrey_

Our intrepid team scattered around the country have heard many intriguing rumours of peculiar happenings. Odd lights glowing in the marshes and moors, bobbing along and leading travellers astray (tales of Will-o’-the-wisps spring to mind).

Strange screeches in the night have plagued a lonely fishing town.

Even our intrepid artist, Miss Stepleton has suffered her own bizarre experience. Upon returning home one night, she came across a dog (rather large she thought) that appeared to be in pain and whimpering.

Assisting the animal to the headquarters of _Animal Welfare LAC_ (London Animal Charity) where she is a member, Miss Stepleton tended to the dog and allowed it to sleep in a crate. Retiring for the night she awoke to realise the dog had vanished even though all the house was locked.

Outside in the small garden plot Miss Stepleton discovered dog prints that matched the size of the dog. Following them…and here is the most grotesque element to the experience…she found that just before the dog had left the garden they transformed into human footprints.

Considering the garden is enclosed with a lock that was undisturbed by lock picks, Miss Stepleton was at a loss to understand what had truly occurred.

Gentle readers, we will keep you informed of any further developments to these strange tales.

= = =

**HELP NEEDED – _Animal Welfare LAC_**

If you can spare a few hours a week tending to our small garden and odd job work, we would love to hear from you. Please contact Mr Edward Forrester, c/o The Suffrage Chronicle (address as below).

= = =

**MR RAT CARTOON**

Miss Mabel Stepleton’s wrist still pains her, so with our continued apologies, we have supplied a summary of her story below in prose form:

_~~On a balmy summer day, the Vicar and Mr Rat went on a picnic. To the cool stream they wandered with a basket over the arm of the Vicar who wore a wide brimmed hat. On his left shoulder sat Mr Rat, wearing his own hat to shield from the sun._

_~~At the sparkling stream they made camp and dined well on bread dripping with honey, fresh berries and fresh water. Then, as the Vicar dozed Mr Rat explored._

_~~Down through the grass and through the long tendrils of the willow tree whose arms dipped into the running water he scurried. On he travelled until he discovered a beautiful pink rock._

_~~Delighted, he picked up the tiny rock and tucked it into his pocket. Turning he dashed back, through the greenery and flowers until he was under the willow tree again and awakening the Vicar with his nose pressed on the Vicar’s._

_~~Startled awake the Vicar smiled at the gift and cradled Mr Rat. “How lucky am I!” he whispered and Mr Rat stopped in his brushing of his whiskers to concede that the Vicar was fortunate but so was he._

_~~So both Man and Rat dwelt in peace on that summer day, relishing in the cool waters and shade of the willow tree._

**_The Suffrage Chronicle, 21 Oak Street, Elsbury_ **

* * *

 

A buzzing noise coupled with a tickling sensation awoke Watson. Blinking, he blearily focused on an object hovering in front of him. He felt for his glasses and managed to put them on to discover it was a bee bumping insistently against his nose.

Watson was grateful he wasn’t afraid of bees because if he had been, a minor heart attack would be on the cards. As it was he froze in fright, sucking in breaths of air to calm the sudden fluttering of his heart.

“Watson?”

Turning his head while keeping the bee in the corner of his eye, Watson saw Holmes sitting up observing two bees who were buzzing about him and the third whose attention was on Watson.

“Holmes, please tell me you can deduce what our guests need?”

Holmes grey eyes were shining and he rubbed his hands together in the fading light. The sun was setting Watson realised with a start. They had slept longer than he realised.

“I think they need our help. Up Watson! We must answer their call for aid.”

Holmes sprang to his feet and towards Desmond and Dottie. Watson clambered to his feet, stretched, gathered their picnic belongings and took Desmond’s reigns.

His friend was vibrating with sheer excitement as he held Dottie’s reigns and addressed the bees.

“We are ready. Please lead the way.”

As if sensing how ridiculous Watson felt, Holmes waited for him to draw abreast.

“It is as I said Watson. Telling the bees is an important and ancient ritual. There is evidently a strong element of order and respect in bee society. By introducing us, Reverend Thomas Allspice was able to inform his bees that there was somebody they could request help from if necessary – and here we are!”

Holmes’ sheer happiness at such a discovery and having _bees_ come to him for a case was wonderful. Watson’s heart swelled at the vision of Holmes’ long lean frame vibrating with his excitement, his grey eyes burning with intensity and his voice atremble with emotion.

Love for this impossible man was so overwhelming at that instant that Watson had to place a hand on Desmond for support, lest his legs give way and frighten his preoccupied and supposed ‘machine-like’ detective.

Holmes looked at him as the bees led them deeper into the forest, blinking at his most likely stupid stare. For a moment his mouth opened and closed, his grey eyes dark with a sudden flicker of hope.

Then they were under the boughs of tall and ancient elm trees where the sinking sun’s rays transformed the space into a murky gloom. Watson lost proper sight of Holmes’ expression, but he felt Holmes’ hand steal into his own.

He thrilled at the touch, similar to when Holmes seized his hand when they stole into the house of that blackmailing scoundrel. Yet also unalike, for now Watson was full of revelations and desires and hopes he was determined to make reality.

“Do you think they are leading us to our mice selves?”

“Perhaps,” breathed Holmes. His fingers tightened and Watson squeezed back.

After another five minutes of shadowy movement under the tree canopy, they reached the edge of a clearing. Here the inky blue skies could be seen as dusk advanced. The bees halted, bobbing around their heads.

Watson understood why.

In the middle of the grassy clearing were the two mice, the fox, cat _and a massive Bernard dog_.

The slimmer and taller mouse, clad like Holmes, was apparently speaking to the dog. Next to him, his counterpart was tending to a tiger cub. The beautiful orange, black and white stripped feline was shivering as the fluffy black cat busily licked its fur.

Clearly frightened the tiger cub curled into the tender ministrations, while Watson watched in fascination as his mouse counterpart gently petted the tiger cub’s fur and spoke in what Watson inferred was a gentle manner. The fox was standing guard, ears flicking this way and that, eyes scanning and scenting the air.

The bees began buzzing loudly again and Holmes’ hand clenched tight, tugging Watson’s attention away from the scene.

“Watson, there, behind the trees.”

In the increasing gloom it took Watson a moment to focus on the threat: a human man slinking through the undergrowth on the other side of the clearing. The fox would notice soon, but had been distracted by the tiger cub’s pitiful calls.

Not on his watch!

Breaking free of Holmes, the doctor hefted his walking stick as his gun would frighten the poor animals and motioned for Holmes to stay put. He saw the detective’s wide grin and smiled in answer.

Dottie and Desmond were behaving well, but their eyes were fixed on the intruder in a fashion which had Watson relieved he wasn’t the intruder. Carefully he slipped around them, with a bee taking position ahead of him.

_Clever!_

Watson followed the bee as the light grew dimmer, creeping quietly and thankful for all his practise with Holmes. Climbing over a piece of tangled root, moss and grasses, Watson surprised the man who turned only at the last moment – and rather too late.

WHACK.

Watson brought his stick down in a fell swoop and the man collapsed with a cry.

The eerie terrifying cry of the fox rent the air causing Watson to shudder. He glanced into the clearing and saw the haste that the fox picked up the tiger cub by the scruff and deposited him into one compartment of the leather hold bags draped over the big Bernard.

The Bernard nudged the cub inside more securely, while the cat leaped onto the back of the dog and sat upright, its tail lashing and eyes glowing yellow-green in the dusk, sleek black fur glimmering like magic.

The Raven abruptly appeared, swooping low like an avenging angel with a fearsome cry, weaving under the trees to rake the man with its feet before wheeling away.

The man moaned in fright, too dazed to do more than twitch, let alone escape.

Watson saw Holmes meet the gaze of his counterpart. Man and mouse observed each other for what seemed an eternity, but were really only a few seconds. It ended with a respectful nod of understanding.

The doctor however was proud to see his counterpart rush over to him and with a curt nod as one doctor to another ( _he was carrying a Gladstone bag!_ ) the doctor viciously bit the man on the hand.

Yelping the man tried to move and groaned when the mouse walked up to his face, stopping by his chin and glared. Cowed by the rodent the man became still.

“Thank you,” Watson said to his counterpart.

The mouse bowed to him and raised his hat. Then he stroked his moustache into order before leaping off and re-joining his companion who patted him on the back. The two mice easily climbed up onto the fox.

Watson roughly grabbed the fellow by the shoulder and hauled him into the clearing. Holmes led their pony and horse to Watson, giving a wide berth to the gathering in the middle and faced their counterparts beside his own Watson.

He would never forget this moment as long as he lived. Watson felt as if he had tumbled into Wonderland, the same strange world Alice had fallen into inhabited by peculiar anthropomorphic creatures.

The fox bid farewell in a softer tone while the cat released a long meow that was thank you and goodbye rolled into one. Yellow-green eyes sparked as the sun fully set and the stars became more visible.

They received a friendly bark from the Bernard, while both mice bowed. During these antics the cub peered at them with confused amber eyes. Bowing in return, both men whispered soft farewells. The raven cawed in acknowledgement and departed on silent wings.

A cloud passed over the clearing plunging it into a deep darkness. By the time it passed their counterparts and co. had departed.

Watson looked at Holmes who swallowed hard. “I…I think we should thank the bees.”

“Yes…and ask them to lead us home.”

“Sensible Watson, very sensible.”

“My good fellows,” began Holmes, voice a scratchy whisper from shock at what they had just witnessed and partaken in, “we would be most grateful if you could lead us to our cottage. It is situated not far from your hive, to the east, half a mile.”

The bees buzzed loudly in response.

So hastily they hauled the gibbering man onto Dottie who snorted in disgust. Desmond stomped once.

“I believe Holmes our mounts have the same low opinion of this miscreant as we do.”

“Excellent taste.” Holmes took Dottie’s reigns, waiting for Watson to take Desmond’s before speaking again.

“We are ready.” The bees immediately started on their way.

Falling into companionable silence as they walked carefully behind the bees Watson casually slipped his hand into Holmes’ who inhaled sharply. Holmes’ fingers flexed and tightened, his breath sounding loud in the dark under the eaves of the trees. Watson said nothing, just allowed Holmes the time to order his thoughts and understand.

Only when they emerged from the woods did Watson disengage in case they met any travellers (such as a worried Miss Rutherford or Miss Aubrey). Holmes released a shaky breath and in the moonlight his eyes were wide and face paler than normal.

Swallowing heavily, Holmes faced their now conscious prisoner who was not happy to be tied, but fortunately still cowed.

“I advise the truth if you do not wish to face a jury of animals,” remarked Holmes coldly but with a tremor to his voice.

From his position slung over Dottie, the man nodded rapidly then groaned in pain. Watson knew he would have to treat the culprit once their interrogation was complete.

“My name is Aloysius Grant. I…I work as part of a ring smuggling exotic animals from India and Africa. The tiger cub was one of them. How anyone found out about it I don’t know, blast!”

“So we have uncovered a smuggling ring!” cried Holmes, delighted. “Well then, it is late and Watson is impatient to treat even a ruffian like you. So tomorrow you will tell us all and we may be merciful.”

“What then?” Watson wondered.

“My brother will find suitable employment where Mr Grant can pay penance for his crimes.”

At this their buzzing companions bobbed against their cheeks almost affectionately Watson dared to believe. Flying over to their captive, an angry noise rolled from the bees which caused the man to whimper and struggle.

Dottie was helpful by prancing in unison with the angry bees, jostling the fencer of stolen animals. Holmes clapped his hands in delight at the sight. Equally amused by the display, Watson felt he had to curtail their activities.

They still had to return their faithful mounts, secure their captive in the outhouse and after all that he would _finally_ be able to instruct Holmes fully on how matters stood between them.

“Come Holmes, we still have much to do and the moon is rising.”

Sighing in disappointment Holmes nevertheless conceded and with the bees still leading, they bent their path to the stables where they discovered the ladies were at a party. The stable lad was quite astonished at their situation, but Holmes paid the lad handsomely for his silence.

By the time they had shoved their captive into the small shed at the bottom of the garden and secured it against escape the moon had fully risen casting a silvery sheen on the land. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

The faithful bees bid them goodnight with a final bump on their noses before turning towards their hive.

“Goodnight,” called Watson softly while Holmes nearly skipped up the path to the cottage door. He was full of excitement and wonder (as was Watson) and covered in the sweat and dirt of the excursions.

“I shall run a bath for us both,” stated Watson firmly as Holmes turned on the lights suffusing the sitting room with a warm glow.

“Oh splendid Watson. I will put away our picnic things.”

“Do try not to become distracted with any experiments on the way Holmes.” Watson plucked Holmes’ hand, rough from years of physical exertions. Rubbing his thumb across the back of a chemical stained hand Watson locked gazes with him.

“I will be waiting for you.”

Holmes’ expression opened like a blossoming flower. It seemed that at last his wonderfully oblivious detective understood what people meant by their odd comments, and that Dodd and Godfrey’s allusions meant something quite specific…and unfortunately illegal.

“…Yes.”

Chuckling on the inside at Holmes flustered response, Watson stroked his thumb one last time over the back of Holmes’ hand and slid his hand free, sliding his thicker fingers through Holmes’ long slender digits in a quite sinful way.

He would treasure for the rest of his days how Holmes’ mouth parted slightly and his tongue darted out to swipe his lips. Still, there would be time shortly to relish utterly in Holmes so Watson reluctantly stepped away and headed towards the small bathroom, determinedly ignoring the crash of the china as Holmes rushed to put things back where they belonged.

* * *

The water had filled the tub nicely, warming the cool room considerably. Towels were placed neatly on the chair by the bath, with soap at the ready.

Watson was already in his slippers and robe, sans spectacles, when Holmes appeared slightly blurred to the good doctor. Holmes was flushed and evidently agitated, but in a positive way. The great detective began fluttering about, undressing in full view as was his wont and dropping his clothes in a messy pile on the rug.

Fondness surged in Watson’s breast and he closed the distance to clasp the jittery detective by the hands. Holmes froze, eyes wide and body trembling. Hope and want mingled in stormy grey eyes and he was unable to form words.

Shaking his head lovingly, Watson freed one hand to reach and run over the skin of Holmes’ thin yet muscular shoulder. Holmes gasped at the touch and Watson wondered when was the last time Holmes had received such an intimate touch, or was this the first?

Even more deeply moved, Watson blinked back tears.

“My dear silly detective.”

Watson went on tiptoes and kissed him sweetly and gently. Pulling back and tilting his head, Watson observed Holmes’ reaction.

A sharp inhale was followed by Holmes licking his lips. Finally he focused on Watson with an agonising pleading expression.

“Please Watson, I must know. Are you serious?”

“I am in earnest my good fellow. I _do_ love you my silly oblivious detective.” Kissing the back of Holmes’ right hand, Watson slid his free hand to rest on the bare flesh of Holmes’ lower back. Holmes shuddered at the touch.

“Now do you understand why I had to move out?”

Holmes frowned then nodded sharply. Then a grin overtook his features and all of a sudden, his energetic genius was returned in full glory to his faculties. Watson was slightly envious and impressed, with a dose of adoration…damnations.

“Yes, but we shall rectify that by retiring as we discussed previously. I shall keep bees and you can doctor to the populace while writing of our adventures.”

“You have been planning this for a while haven’t you Holmes? The beekeeping, the retiring together?”

“As ever my dear Watson, you underestimate your abilities. You have been far more perceptive in this matter than me. And yes to _our_ retirement…if that is fine with you?” The last was queried so tentatively that Watson’s heart clenched.

“My dear, I shall be most cross if I cannot continue to write about our many varied adventures in the countryside, overflowing with dark and dangerous deeds and devious people as you are fond of informing me. Though I hope we will be fortunate to have our version of a Reverend Thomas Allspice and the ladies thrown in as well.”

Laughter erupted from Holmes and he broke free of Watson to begin pacing, crowding Watson against the full tub in the tight quarters. He was muttering about locations to retire to, the precise time to retire and what to do once they were securely hidden away in the depths of the English countryside, (or Scottish, or Welsh as Watson overheard in the growing deliberations) and where to source his bees from and oh! The possibility of horse riding.

Greatly amused but impatient for them to bathe and to be close to each other, Watson discarded his robe to reveal he was standing naked in his slippers. On the rebound from the wall Holmes halted at the sight.

A wonderous gaze raked Watson’s form, full of deepening appreciation and lust. Pleased but a touch uncomfortable Watson cleared his throat, discovering he was now suffering from a case of nerves.

“Bath Holmes, we both need it.”

The water sloshed as the two men carefully entered, arranging themselves so Watson could cradle the tall detective against his broader chest. His hard member rubbed against Holmes’ lower back then bottom as Holmes moaned in desire and shifted.

Groaning at the sensation, Watson clutched at Holmes’ sides. His breath was ragged and it took all his willpower to seize the washing cloth and apply it with soap to Holmes.

Being able to touch Holmes so intimately was beyond all words he had as a writer. The slide against skin marked with a lifetime of hardships, the faded scars from the dreaded day at the Reichenbach Falls where he thought Holmes had fallen to his death and the feel of well trained muscles from fencing and baritsu.

Holmes was not idle, even as he responded eagerly to Watson’s touch by wriggling and causing Watson some pleasant pressure on his groin. Long fingers ran over Watson’s legs and at one point, Holmes half turned so he could press kisses against Watson’s nose and quickly closed eyes.

Water splashed alarmingly close to the edge but neither cared.

“Oh Watson!”

“I know Holmes.”

Answering Holmes’ plea, Watson stopped his ministrations and dropped his hand to Holmes’ engorged member. The first proper touch had Holmes arching and crying out in shock and sheer delight.

Laughing in happiness, Watson wrapped his hand around the feel of hot living flesh, solid and twitching in his grasp. His other hand wriggled between their bodies and cupped Holmes balls.

Holmes lost the power of speech which was quite gratifying. Kissing the back of Holmes’ neck, Watson grinned as Holmes reacted with a whimper of want at the sensation of his moustache on sensitive skin.

In revenge Holmes managed to regain some senses and purposely began rubbing his backside against Watson’s prick. Groaning at the feeling, Watson was barely aware of how the water splashed over the tub onto the tiled floor as he pressed upwards, taking his hand from Holmes’ balls to pry Holmes open partly so his member slid between Holmes’ cheeks.

Holmes twisted, causing more water to slosh over which Watson did notice as he tried keeping Holmes still. A low gasp was all Holmes could offer and Watson was overjoyed that he was giving Holmes so much pleasure.

Deciding to finish it since they were both too sensitive to prolong this encounter – and there would be others in the future – Watson squeezed Holmes’ leaking member and gave a good few pulls with his closed fist, while rubbing himself vigorously against Holmes, sliding over his opening.

Holmes reached completion first, entire body tense as he gave way to temporary oblivion. Watson followed a second later and for a few minutes only their ragged breathing filled the room.

Once awareness crept back, Watson tiredly cleaned them off in the cooling water and helped an exhausted Holmes from the bath. A rub with a wet cloth and then dry fluffy towels did the business and left them both languid and content.

Watson helped Holmes into a nightshirt and was happy when Holmes fumbled his way through assisting him. Afterwards, Holmes placed his forehead against Watson’s with hands cradling his head, fingers splayed over Watson’s skin and moustache.

“That was remarkable Watson.”

“It becomes even better Holmes.”

“Then I must catalogue every encounter so we can work out the best-”

Watson interrupted Holmes with a kiss. “Naturally my dear Holmes, but first bed and tomorrow our villain.”

“Oh very well Watson. Together?”

“I would be most unimpressed if you neglected me now Holmes.”

A wide grin spread across Holmes’ face and he clasped Watson’s hand leading them to the doctor’s bedroom which was tidier and did not have books on beekeeping, scrapbooks on poisoners or the latest in criminal detection littered across the covers.

Moonlight stole into their room as they curled up under the covers, bodies entwined.

“To our next adventure Watson!”

“And many to come!”

* * *

**THE SUFFRAGE CHRONICLE**

**| _Emblem of Two Ravens in Flight_ |**

_Blessings of Strangers by Miss Florence Rutherford_

Our thanks goes towards our mysterious benefactor who delivered to the _Animal Welfare LAC_ Charity an assistant in response to the plea in our previous edition. Mr Aloysius Grant was directed to us by a Mr M. Croft who said that it was Mr Grant’s ambition to help animals.

We must say that Mr Grant is a natural gardener and security guard, if a little anxious around mice, cats and foxes. His reaction to our Raven emblem was most astonishing. Yet, we all have our foibles.

On the matter of animals, Mr M. Croft directed our attention to an exotic animals smuggling ring – despicable. We have developed contacts in India in the hope of bringing justice to these poor creatures. You will appreciate that even saying so much is a risk, so we will draw a veil on our further operations in this field.

= = =

**ADVERT**

~~221B Baker Street, London. Tenants welcome to occupy recently vacated lodgings. Please contact Mrs Hudson at the aforementioned address.~~

Rooms already engaged. Mr M. Croft

= = =

**MR RAT CARTOON**

Our esteemed artist, Miss Stepleton, has left for Central and Eastern Europe in the company of quite a peculiar and diverse band of peoples…and animals, or at least a rather wolfish appearing dog. Her comment before she apologised for her leave of absence was the desire to track down records on werewolves, vampires and Baba Yaga.

As such, we are seeking a replacement artist who would be happy to continue the adventures of Mr Rat and the Vicar who have supplied below their requirements:

 _Mr Rat:_ someone who can get my nose and whiskers right. Must like adventures and keep our friendship at the forefront.

 _Vicar:_ Kindness to animals and humans, must also treat Mr Rat with due respect. Artist must be able to depict my eccentric hat and shoes just right.

 

Please send an example of your artistic attempt (four panels please), to the address as at the end of our edition.

**_The Suffrage Chronicle, 21 Oak Street, Elsbury_ **

* * *

**_Six Months Later_ **

???TELEGRAM FROM MESSRS J.DODD & G.EMSWORTH???

CONGRATS ON YOUR RETIREMENT. DOING FINE. VISITING SOUTH AMERICA. TERRIFIC ANIMALS HERE. J & G.

**???TINY PHOTOGRAPH DELIVERED TO VILLAGE ---  C/O H &W.???**

_Required use of Dr Watson’s microscope (following the loss of Mr Holmes’ instrument into the belly of the Cornish Sea monster, a Case Yet to be Told)._

**Depicts a one year old tiger somewhere in the jungles of India, with a mouse clad in the uniform of the Bengal Army. The message inscribed on the back read:**

**_Cub well and looked after. Thank you for your help. Basil of Baker Street & Dr David Q. Dawson and Leaders of Elsbury_ **

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Special thanks to my beta, rae_fa, who not only checked the story for errors, but also provided the names for the following:
> 
> Newspaper – The Suffrage Chronicle  
> Lead Female Journalist – Miss Florence Rutherford  
> Artist – Miss Mabel Stepleton
> 
> My beta answered my cry for aid when my mind went blank and provided the terribly useless offers of: “Miss…Grey? Twithes? HELP.”
> 
> 2) Elsbury is a fictional village and any similarities to a real place or inhabitants is accidental. _Animal Welfare LAC_ , the charity, is also fictional and any similarities to a real charity is accidental.
> 
> 3) ColebaltBlue, I wish I could have put more horses into this, but my knowledge of horses is insufficient to do the task justice. I hope that Dottie and Desmond plus Sapphire were acceptable and provided some enjoyment : )
> 
> 4) Telling the Bees: a little background info on the history of perceiving bees as messengers from the Gods and the importance of keeping them informed of certain life events:  
> https://beegood.co.uk/blogs/news/29744001-the-tradition-of-telling-the-bees


End file.
